Life is really too fantastic, engraved by like dreams, but does not stay strong time, face all along the years, however, when to bring this footprint strung hanging exquisite Campanula, suspended Yu Qingchun window, read it carefully ... ...
The sleepless days, do not know how many times did roots of the dream, the dream also is many one flew over, wake up around still misty. Turn to when the album, you'll find out: the pursuit of fame, it is only a few thin piece of paper; owned the property, but also others abandoned story; even the divine love, seems to have become something not essential; even the most proud of the experience, has also become cannot bear to think of the past. Dream.
So what is life? In your coat stripped layer remaining after what is? Is sorry rest at dusk, with the first love boyfriend, walked down the sun rain rainbow trail, half open, micro Xia sky, the feeling is always in my dream? Is a quiet night, April, do wet mind already became the wind sings, hand does not hold, you go out, away from the long sigh? Life, it is life?
One was a greeting, in part, is deeply buried in the heart. Every time when I look back on the road, always unwilling quietly recalled childhood that naive, young people and how, not like other people can not and others similar, why should others walking on the tracks to repair his own way, in the vast sea of humanity, I am what I am, no matter in sunny days or a grim and grave situation. Time is still one cycle,25 years a floating, have a look have gradually vicissitudes of the face, though I have been mature, but in the sweet life keep a bit naive and why.
Always love quietly in the snow on a few lines of deeply shallow footprints, or lying on the green grass above on the lonely starry sky, leaving behind a how sorry back; always love, rainy season in fine window scattered raindrops, or quietly to the garden after searching several heart-shaped leaves, picking a few bright red abrin, always like the bleak win
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